I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, If ye find my beloved, That ye tell him, that I am sick of love.
I am black, but comely, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, As the tents of Kedar, As the curtains of Solomon.
Stay me with flagons, Comfort me with apples: For I am sick of love.
I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, By the roes, and by the hinds of the field, That ye stir not up, nor awake my love, Till he please.
I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, That ye stir not up, nor awake my love, Until he please.
Now I beseech you, brethren, for the Lord Jesus Christ's sake, and for the love of the Spirit, that ye strive together with me in your prayers to God for me;
Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.